Pawel is my attentive date for the evening. He wears a ritzy tuxedo and looks appropriately dapper enough to be on the guest list of the charity dinner we crashed for the Washington State Heart Association. Heart disease is still America’s number-one killer, followed closely by natural disasters and suicide. All the richest Washingtonians are in attendance.

And so is Senator Gordon. The guest of honor and our VIP target.

Senators don’t demand nearly as much security as governors do—it was easy to slip into the event without a microchip scan. Barend, clad in his Washington State Guard dress blues, escorted us in, no questions asked. It’s Mira’s and my survival tactic from our school days: people see what they expect to see. We look like we belong here, so we belong.

Emery stands in front of a great stone clock tower, her elegant gown matching the steeple’s rusted red shingles. She’s stunning, and every person at the party sees it too. A swarm of polished men and women buzz around her like honeybees returned from extinction. Emery breaks out a Rubik’s Cube from her bag, her shield against having to mingle. She twists and turns the colored blocks, solving the puzzle in under five seconds without even looking at it. Her real focus is on finding the senator.

Arm in arm, Pawel and I pass by her without acknowledgment, but I can’t help but covertly smile at Emery’s firm rebuffs. No time for flirtations. She’s a woman on a mission.

The other two local Common members, still dressed in Guard uniforms, wait back at the SUV, engine running. The plan is to get Senator Gordon alone and then for Emery and me to convince him to leave with us on his own free will. If that doesn’t happen, we’ll move on to the backup plan: taking him by force, and convincing him later.

As Pawel and I stroll past the antique Looff Carrousel that’s lit up magically in the balmy summer evening, I spot the senator on the bank of the Spokane River. He wears a cream tuxedo jacket with black slacks and bowtie, and the first thing I notice is his belly spilling over his matching off-white cummerbund. He’s lived a comfortable life. That’s about to change.

Standing alone—where are his agents?—the senator has his eyes glued to a tablet screen. He mouths words to himself, his free hand slicing through the air with emphasis, like he’s memorizing something of grave importance. His predinner speech? He takes his nonjob that seriously?

“Ten o’clock,” I say under my breath to Pawel.

We bypass the numerous circular white-clothed tables set with elaborate flowered centerpieces and head for the riverbank. Emery moves away from the clock tower, following ten yards behind. It’s only when I get closer to the senator I realize how uncomfortable the man looks. He’s sweating and fidgety and appears almost as uneasy as I feel in my own suit.

I scan the riverbank one more time—still no agents. The perfect time for us to make our move; we might not get so clear a chance again. I double-check my headscarf, making sure it still conceals my telltale red hair.

My look tonight reminds me of an old-school movie star, glamorous red lips and all. It’s the antithesis of who I have become: a girl with a gun strapped to her ankle, refusing to take direction from anyone.

I squeeze Pawel’s hand. Action.

“Aeron, are you seeing this?” Pawel says softly beside me, calling me by my code name. He slows down and nods behind us at six o’clock. I follow his line of sight and discover two Washington State Guards—real ones—hurriedly setting up camera equipment in front of the small stage that’s been constructed between the gardens and the circular tables.

Why would a senator’s boring charity dinner speech be broadcast to the state’s citizens? And why is the Guard in charge of the newscast? I’ve only ever seen them point tasers and guns at people—what is going on?

Then Pawel, Emery, and I freeze in unison. An additional half dozen State Guards fan out across the dinner party, guns held aggressively in their hands like they’re expecting the dolled-up charity guests to fight back. With what, their steak knives? I snap my head back around to see two of the Guards escort Senator Gordon to the stage, practically at gunpoint.

A woman wearing a strapless pale-pink ball gown patterned in watercolor floral walks up to the podium on the stage. If the armed Guard’s sudden presence has thrown her, she doesn’t show it.

“Without further ado, I give you Washington State’s own Senator Gordon,” she intros to a round of what sounds like forced applause. The dinner guests are taking in the unforeseen development of the Guard’s appearance like we are: with confusion and wariness.

The woman, who must be the director of the charity, is all but shoved off the stage by two agents in dark suits. A heavy, tension-filled silence follows as Senator Gordon is placed in front of the microphone, surrounded on all sides by his two agents and two State Guards.

Is the man about to make a coerced public confession?

Whatever happens, we need to adapt, fast. Pawel and I close ranks, moving closer to Emery.

Only pull out your gun if absolutely necessary, I remind myself. There are cameras now. The nation is watching.

Keep to the plan and don’t break character.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Senator Gordon begins in a taut, toneless voice. He speaks directly to the camera, not to the in-person crowd gathered around the tables. “What a beautiful night here at Riverfront Park.”

He pauses, as if savoring one last moment of peace. For a second, I don’t think he’s going to continue, but then the Guard on his left takes a threatening step closer. A warning. The senator takes a deep breath and grips the wooden podium, tight.

“While I’m here tonight to help raise money for the Washington State Heart Association, a very important cause impacting millions of Washingtonians’ lives, Governor Elsen, our head of state, has asked me to read a prepared statement, which I will now do.”

In concert all throughout the dinner party, tablets light up like mechanical fireflies, notifications flickering incessantly. Attention now glued to their screens, most of the dinner guests wear expressions of shock on their blue-lit faces.

What the hell is going on?

I try to move closer to steal a glance at a tablet, but Emery holds me back. She directs my attention once more to the senator, and I see that Barend has managed to slip his way onto the stage, one body away from our target. He’s playing his part of Guard perfectly.

“Our country is under attack by a radical terrorist group,” the senator continues with the governor’s prepared statement. “State by state, the traitors are attempting to infiltrate the government by turning senators against their own country. They seek to divide us. We cannot let that happen. In direct response, Governor Roth of Texas has declared a state of emergency.”

Our mission has been exposed. Instead of panic, the only emotion I feel is fury. My instincts held up a red flag of alert after Mira’s and my capture at the Common’s headquarters. Left alone in a cell, my inner voice spoke loud and clear. Someone betrayed us! But I didn’t listen. I let myself be persuaded there was no betrayer among our own.

And now they betrayed us again.

My hands curl into fists.

“With the full approval of Governor Elsen, Governor Roth of Texas has taken temporary control of Washington State. The Texas Guard has come not only to our aid but to the aid of our fellow border states that are in grave crisis during this uncertain hour in our nation’s history. Rest assured that you and your First Families are being protected.”